Horizons
by plains of asphodel
Summary: Few noticed when the Kyuubi brat disappeared, and no one cared. Six months later, Kakashi is injured on a mission and meets a blue-eyed boy in the forest...family fic, no pairings
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, and this writing is just for my own amusement, and hopefully yours as well (you can send a review if you like it).

AN: This is a Naruto and Kakashi family fic! Because I've always wanted to write one, with lots of angst. But, since my writing is not so great, there will probably be a lot of mistakes and cliché, feel free to point it out to me. I could always do with some constructive criticism.

Prologue: Exile

"Where is that demon?"

A whisper. But he can hear it through the silence and snores of the other children (but he sleeps alone in the orphanage, because none of the other children will stay near him at night, the grown-ups don't allow it as if he might contaminate them).

"How the f—should I know?" Another voice, but the same disgusted tone. "There're a million brats in here."

"Just keep looking. That monster is impossible to miss." Grumbling, but the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor. They are searching the beds, looking for someone, some_thing_ for which they bear no good intentions.

The boy listens, frozen on his futon. He cannot move though he knows it is him they seek. It is fear, or despair, keeping him still. They still have not found him in his small corner of the room, unable to catch sight of his curled body through the darkness of the night.

"Are you sure about this?" the third voice pipes up with a nervous tremor.

"Yes. We have to do it tonight, when the Lord Hokage is away on a diplomatic mission." the first voice answers harshly. "We're doing the village a favor by getting rid of this monster."

A shiver goes through the boy's body; he has learned by now to recognize the voice of those who would do him harm with more than just words.

A rustling movement above him, "Hey, I think I found it!"

Fearful blue eyes look up into the scarred face of a hardened shinobi, filled with surprise that cannot hide the contempt. A headband, hitae-ate, glints slightly in the dim light from the window. The shinobi's eyes meet his, and the boy feels a thrill of fear down his spine.

Those dark eyes scare him because they are full of malice and madness, triumph and desire to hurt. The eyes dip into a frown upon meeting his. He opens his mouth and a whimper, some inarticulate sound of fear escapes.

The shinobi scowls, "Shit, he's awake."

He cannot make a sound, and he clutches the teddy bear tighter, as if it could save him, wake him from this nightmare.

"Do something to fix that then!"

The first voice returns in a panicked whisper, and he feels rough hands on him, something covering his mouth and nose, a feeling that he should shout, make a sound, or something, _anything_.

Instead, the darkness creeps back as he blacks out into oblivion once more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He is running, aching, fleeing.

The branches grab at him, the roots trip his feet, and the darkness tries to steal his soul, but he runs from it all, dodging the scratching boughs, stumbling but never falling.

Behind him, their voices are harsh, angry, full of bloodlust. His head aches where he thinks he hit it on a rock when they threw him down, and his chest aches where he knows they kicked him and his heart aches because he realizes that they will kill him if they get the chance.

But there is a voice in his ears, no in his mind, which guides him because it does not want him to die. It is like the voice of a demon, but he listens because he wants to live, stubbornly, like the sapling on the bare face of a cliff, hanging on by a mere inch but reveling in the life because it is so close to death.

He runs and runs because he doesn't want to die; despite the fear and the hatred, he still clings onto a miniscule hope, like the teddy bear that is clutched in his arms, that some day he can prove himself to everyone, and maybe they won't hate him anymore.

Miraculously, their voices dim, their footsteps fade, until they are inseparable from the surrounding noise of the forest. He is utterly alone, but safe, at least, from shadows deeper than the darkness surrounding him.

His foot lands in cold water with a splash. It is a small creek, low and winding. When his foot slips on a mossy rock, and he plunges headfirst into the water, he is too tired to get back up. The water is cold, and biting, but it numbs the cuts and bruises.

Lying there in the shallow water, he stares with half-open eyes at his outstretched hand, which is bruised and sore like the rest of his body, wondering why they all hate him. Something in him breaks silently, and a warm and wet tears flow from his eyes and into the water, becoming a part of the stream.

_Run, monster. There's no one here to help you._

There is something white in his hand—the teddy bear, sopping wet and with the happy, stitched smile on its fuzzy white face (_given to him by…_). He buries his face in it, and the warm, familiar scent in the fur reminds him of something almost happy but he cannot remember so he stops trying.

TBC

So, should I continue with the story or give it up because it sucks?


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

AN: Eh? There were a lot more reviews than I thought there would be! Thank you for all your feedback. Since so many people liked the first chapter, I guess I'll have to continue. Here's chapter one. ^_^

Chapter One: Blue-eyed

The forests around Konoha were not friendly places. Though the worst of them was the Forest of Death, the other surrounding foliage was still hostile, full of poisonous plants and menacing creatures. It was not the place where one wanted to be when injured.

But the silver-haired stranger was there nonetheless, stumbling through the undergrowth. His gait was uneven, and his breath came in ragged gasps, each sending another jolt of pain through his injured right side. The entire side was burned a painful, raw red, courtesy of the last fire jutsu that he had been unable to avoid. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, broken in at least two places. Not to mention the sheer exhaustion that was a result of chakra depletion threatened to overwhelm him at any moment. There was blood streaking the silver strands of his hair, and flowing over his face, sticking his left eye shut, not that it mattered because keeping it open would only expend more chakra.

But at least he was still alive. The bodies of three dead pursuers lay in the forest behind him in pools of blood because they underestimated what a wounded, desperate ANBU captain can do, even at the tender age of barely seventeen. And his mission was completed, with the target dead, his throat silently slit and life gone before he realized it.

What was left was the long way home; the walls of Konoha were somewhere in the forest before him, if only he could make it there.

The ANBU mask, nicked and scratched—he would have to get it replaced when he got back—was angled on his head instead of covering his head. Not that he needed it to hide his face, as a secondary mask, made of black cloth instead of white porcelain, concealed his features. But even that was wet with blood; he was sure a broken rib or two had punctured his lung, which was why he was coughing up the sticky redness.

One step closer to home, and one inch closer to death.

His foot caught on a rock that he should have noticed if he weren't so focused on staying alive, and he slipped before he could catch himself. A gasp of pain and surprise escaped his lips as he fell rather roughly onto the ground, jarring his already broken bones.

A humorless smile appeared behind the mask, _I've grown careless. Obito would laugh at me if he saw this…_

A flash of nostalgia passed through his dark eyes as the thought crossed his mind, reminding him of happier times.

_Get a grip! This is not the time to be reminiscing!_ He chided himself, before slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position with his good arm.

A barely perceptible rustling noise in the bushes to the side drew his attention. He stiffened in alarm, and his left hand moved subconsciously towards his kunai pouch. Thoughts of the dangerous, man-eating beasts (wolves, bears, even the daimyo's wife's rabid cat) that were so common to the forests around Konoha came to mind. _Kuso!_ He cursed silently, _I should have noticed it before now!_

The rustling stopped suddenly as his single dark eye fixated onto the place where the sound originated. Silence descended like an oppressive raincloud thick with tension. It was broken only when Kakashi hunched over in a coughing fit. His hand flew to his mouth, where he felt warm liquid seep through the dark cloth and through his fingers. The bushes, as if deciding that he was no danger to them at the moment, moved again, and parted to reveal the cause of the rustling.

Kakashi who had managed to stifle the wracking coughs, looked up to catch sight of a flash of blonde. He blinked. Blonde? As far as he knew, none of the wolves, bears, or rabid cats in the forest had blonde fur. So what was…?

His answer came as an entire head appeared from the undergrowth. His eye widened, his dire situation temporarily forgotten. Whatever he had expected to see, it was not the small blonde boy who peered at him through the foliage, half-fearfully but not without curiosity.

_What is a kid doing out here?_ Kakashi wondered. Maybe it was a trick by an enemy he had not noticed, and in a second he would find a kunai buried in his head.

His dark eye met with blue orbs, the two strangers gazed silently at each other for what seems like an eternity. Kakashi studied the boy closely after it appeared he was not about to be dispatched by an enemy ninja. The blonde was very young, no more than four, though his thinness (he was so skinny, as if he had not eaten well for a long time) made him seem younger. On his thin face, the lines of six thin whisker marks, three on each cheek, stood out against the pale skin.

What struck the ANBU most, however, was the look in his eyes. It was the look of one who has seen the darkness that human nature is capable of, a desolate, haunted look filled with the pain of solitude and much too old for someone as young as the boy. It was a look that the teenager recognized, every time he looked in the mirror. Something unconscious in him reached out towards the blonde boy with the achingly familiar eyes.

But it was not just the eyes. There were other things about the child that caught Kakashi's attention. It was something about the blonde hair the color of the sun and blue eyes that were the color of the autumn sky, _He looks just like…_

"You…"Kakashi's eyes widened, and his soft voice, heavy with mixed emotions, shattered the silence between them, and the blonde flinched backwards, startled.

"Wait!" the teenager's voice was raspy and carried a hint of desperation. His next words were interrupted by a violent coughing fit again.

When the coughs subsided, leaving him gasping for breath, he looked up again and saw with relief that the blonde head had appeared again in the bushes. The blue eyes were wary but no longer so fearful, and carried an apprehension not for himself, but for the silver-haired stranger.

Kakashi could no longer feel the pain in his burned side, though when he glanced down it was red and inflamed—probably an infection. Instead, there was the dull throb of the blood flowing sluggishly through his veins with every beat of his tired heart, the numbing cold which had nothing to do with the temperature, and the darkness that was slowly eating away at the edges of his vision. He knew from experience that there was not much time left until he lost consciousness.

He opened his mouth, ignoring the metallic taste of blood (the same taste as kunai) on his tongue, and tried to speak again, "Who…are you?" his voice came out in a rasp, but his eyes were fixed on the boy's face. _Could he really be…?_

The boy did not answer, but he slowly moved forward, guardedly, tensed and ready to jump back at the slightest movement. He was holding something white in his hands, but Kakashi could not make it out. His vision was blurring, he realized, and dimming. A wave of dizziness threatened to overcome him; blood loss, a distant part of his brain registered.

Vaguely, he felt himself falling backwards and braced himself for the impact with the ground. But conscious slipped through his grasp like water through his fingers, and the last thing he saw before the oblivion was a familiar pair of concerned blue eyes.

TBC


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: See first chapter

AN: FINALLY!! Summer vacation is here!!!!! Today was the _last_ final, (Thank god my school lets us out early on final days), and I'm not sure how it went, but that's beside the point. It's _finally_ summer! That means no more school and more time to write!

But, it is a little sad…sophomore year is over, and that's half of high school already. Next year I'll be a junior, and a lot busier.

Chapter Two: Stranger

The boy was utterly and completely alone. He lived in the silence of the forest which had been his home for…how long? A few days, a few months? Time was static here, and almost imperceptible. The sounds of animals were few and far between (all the predators here hunted in silence, as he had learned the hard way), and the thick canopy blocked most of the sunlight, leaving him in a world of darkness.

But the darkness and silence of the forest was his home now, and he could barely remember anything else. At night, he would sometimes remember flashes of a past life, where there were uncaring people and hostile glares, but when these memories came he would shut his eyes tightly and hold the white bear tightly until the angry stares went away.

The trees never tried to hurt him, and the creatures of the forest learned soon enough that he could bite and scratch and throw well enough to be crossed off the list of easy prey (and if they still sought him out, he would feel the murderous, crimson power well up inside of him that terrified the predators as well as himself).

As for food and water, he settled in a small hollow in a tree by the river, where there was more than enough water, and lived off the few roots and edible things he could gather (he had learned through trial and error what things could or could not be eaten, resulting in several fevers and sharp stomach pains). Hunger was a near constant companion, and most of the pangs from his stomach were not from poisoning.

Despite the hardships, his world was relatively peaceful; at least there was no one to break the silence with hateful words. But his world was a solitary one, steeped in loneliness and isolation. His only companion was the white teddy bear with the soft, white fur and familiar scent that seemed to bring comfort whenever he inhaled it.

And then one day, six weeks or six months (he could not tell which) after his arrival in the forest, his peace and loneliness were shattered.

The stranger stumbled in, accompanied by the sharp, metallic scent of blood, unaware that he had just intruded into the life of the only blonde inhabitant of the forest. He was unlike anyone the boy had seen before. The boy curiously took in the hair the color of the splinters of moonlight which occasionally broke through the canopy and made silvery patches on the forest floor (_silvery, untouchable. Beautiful._), and the pale white mask painted with purple and scarlet that rested on his hair.

It was obvious that the stranger was seriously wounded, from the painful way he moved and clutched his right arm, and the gasping breaths with each step. Dark crimson stained the silvery strands, flowing over onto his pale face and left eye. His face, hidden by a dark cloth mask, was nonetheless scrunched up with pain, and his right eye was a dull onyx, the color of night, of dark, of deepness.

The boy was drawn, by something in himself that he did not completely understand, towards the stranger. Perhaps it was something in the stranger's eye, a loneliness that the boy recognized in himself. Whatever it was, it pulled him to follow the stranger, and when the silver-haired outsider slipped, falling painfully on his back.

The silver-haired stranger exhaled sharply, eliciting a sympathetic feeling in the boy, who knew exactly what it felt like to hurt (_like fire, like ice, like metal_). When the stranger pushed himself up with his left arm—his right was hanging uselessly by his side—the boy made a move to go forward, rustling the bushes around him. The stranger stiffened, his moonlight-colored head snapping up and pinning the bushes with a wary gaze.

The boy, startled by the sudden movement, stopped as well, a sudden apprehension filling him. Memories of a time long ago when people stared at him with guarded looks whenever he approached, followed by cold glares and colder words. A deafening silence descended, as both the boy and the silver-haired stranger paused, waiting for the other to make a move.

In the end, the stranger was the one who broke the silence, not with words, but with a bout of violent coughs. The scent of blood in the air intensified sharply. The boy's brow creased in worry; the blood would draw predators (they swarmed to blood like sharks), and the stranger seemed in no shape to fend them off.

The thought of the stranger attacked by hungry wolves lured by his blood sent a feeling of panic through the boy's mind; he did not want this silver-haired, lonely-eyed stranger to die. As the coughing subsided and the scent of blood remained, the boy took a breath, clutched his white teddy bear closer for comfort (courage), and stuck his head out of the bush.

His eyes met squarely with the dark orb of the stranger. For a few seconds, both of them froze again, holding their breaths as if even breathing would break the fragile connection. The stranger's eye was wide with surprise (he had obviously expected something more dangerous-looking or bloodthirsty), which turned to a wariness, and then confusion.

The boy searched the stranger's gaze, waiting for the hatred and contempt that he expected to see, but there was only confusion, and something unfathomable (_recognition, melancholy, remembrance_), at least to the boy. The stillness stretched for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, the stranger broke the silence, "You…" his voice was rasping, raw from the coughs, yet there was an emotion in it that the boy had never heard directed at him before. Instinctively, the boy flinched back, a part of him still expecting sharp comments whenever someone spoke to him.

"Wait!" the stranger called, even as the rest his words dissolved into another coughing fit. The hint of desperation in his voice stopped the boy from moving back further. Slowly, he moved forward again and, after a brief pause(_should I trust him?_), left the safety of the bushes.

The coughs subsided, and the stranger looked up, "Who…are you?" he asked weakly, but the fire in his eyes had not dimmed at all. The boy did not answer, instead moving forward carefully, unable to rid his stance of the cautiousness that had become nearly second nature to him.

And then, as if his battered body simply could not hold itself up any longer, the stranger collapsed. The boy watched with wide, concerned eyes, as he fell backwards, his head landing with a painful-sounding thump on the hard ground. There was a moment of silence as the boy froze in indecision and the stranger lay unmoving, his eye closed in unconsciousness. The boy had no idea how to deal with an injury like the stranger's; his experience was limited to scratches and scrapes that healed quickly on their own.

But this silver-haired intruder to his forest-world, stranger though he was, needed his help. The boy bit his lip; he would _not_ let this stranger die. The reason behind this powerful feeling he could not fathom, but he knew, instinctively, that he _had_ to keep the stranger alive, if only because of the emotion in the stranger's eye the moment before it closed (_care, sympathy……love?_).

Still, he had no idea what to do about the injury. He thought back to the times when he himself was hurt, which were more often than he would like to have remembered, for the forest was a dangerous place. Every time, he washed his scratches in the river, which soothed the hurt with its sharp coolness.

The stranger moaned softly, drawing the boy's attention back to the situation at hand and the raw, charred wound on the stranger's side, which rose and fell rapidly with each shallow, agonizing breath. Yes, he decided, he would definitely need to wash the injury first, and he would have to hurry before the wolves, or worse, could find the stranger.

With his mind made up, the boy rose quickly, preparing to sprint off in the direction of his river. Two steps later, he paused, turning back with a contemplative look mixed with worry on his young face. The wound looked like it really hurt…

As if to verify his unease, the stranger groaned again, faintly yet clearly heard in the silence. The boy bit his lip, wondering if there was anything he could do to ease the pain. Whenever he was hurt, the boy remembered, he would squeeze his stuffed bear, tightly, breathing in its comforting, familiar scent. He looked down at the small white teddy bear in his hands, and then at the stranger, and back again, with a frown of intense concentration.

After a moment of hesitation, the boy finally made up his mind. Carefully, he moved the stranger's left arm, the one that was not broken, and placed the teddy bear carefully in the crook of his arm. The stitched face of the bear (with one button eye half-falling) smiled back at him, and he imagined that it was an encouraging smile.

Satisfied with this effect, the boy turned again and disappeared into the forest, in the direction of the stream.

TBC


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: see the first chapter

AN: Sorry for the long wait, but I recently arrived in China and am now living at my grandparents' house. Apparently they don't have internet (how do they _live_??), so even though I finished this chapter a few days ago, I had to wait until today to post it. But the good news is that since I had so much time I made this chapter longer than usual! (though still not long compared to some other people).

Chapter Three: Homecoming

The boy poured the water, painstakingly gathered in a large leaf and carefully carried from the river, onto the burned side. When the water met charred flesh, the stranger made a small, pained sound that was half whimper, half gasp, and he stirred as if trying to move away, but did not wake. Startled, the boy froze, standing wide-eyed and motionless for almost half a minute, the panic inside his stomach growing (_whatshouldIdo!?_).

When there was no further response from the stranger (though the boy no longer considered him to be that foreign anymore), the boy calmed down, waiting for his heartbeat to stop fluttering in his chest and his breath to return. But the wound was still not clean, and, when he had gathered his wits, the boy braced himself to finish the job. Slowly, he allowed another few drops to fall onto the wound, glancing anxiously at the stranger's masked face in hopes of gleaning any sign of discomfort. The stranger did not move.

Heartened, the boy quickly washed the wound the best he could, trying to get all the dirt out. While he did this, the stranger lay pale and unmoving besides the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The boy stared concerned at the masked face, searching for some sign that he would be okay (_dark, mask, nothing_). He debated removing the mask, but did not dare to touch the still form of the stranger, half-afraid of what he might find (a mask of cloth was always better than one of hate).

But his curiosity was not to be denied. The boy's eyes were drawn to the second mask resting on the stranger's head. It was not the silvery white of moonlight, as the stranger's hair, but a stark white (_like snow and unknown years_) interrupted only by the crimson and purple lines outlining the snarling face of a wolf.

Glancing half-fearfully towards the stranger, he slowly touched the mask, feeling its cool, scratched surface under his fingers with fascination. After another glance to make sure the stranger had not noticed, the boy lifted the mask, ruffling the stranger's hair a bit as the string came loose. A slight tug of guilt was quickly squashed by the insistent curiosity, and besides, the boy reasoned, he had lent his teddy bear to the stranger(which he still held in the crook of his arm), so it was only fair if he got something back in return.

Once he had it in his hands, the boy studied it carefully in the waning light of day. It brought back snatches of remembrance:_ a street of children laughing, wearing white clay masks, playing, the adults celebrating, smiling at the children, a small boy standing in a dark corner watching enviously, the loneliness, the dark looks that kept him from coming out…_

The mask fell from his slack fingers, falling to the ground with a small bump. The small thump startled him back from the place in his mind, and he came thankfully, carefully locking that door of his memory tightly, behind a heavy door. Curiosity withdrawn, he left the mask where it lay, not daring to pick it up again (some things were better left undisturbed). Instead, he sat down a few feet away, watching over the stranger.

Night was falling, and the forest was silent, all animals steering clear of the boy and his charge. The only sounds to be heard were the rustling of the wind's breath in the trees, as well as the breathing of two humans, one shallow but rhythmic, and the other growing steadily deeper.

Lulled by the silence, the boy's eyes drooped, and his head nodded forward. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

What woke him was not the natural sounds of the forest-dwelling creatures, but instead the voices of people, raised and shouting indistinctly. His blue eyes snapped open quickly, filling with alarm and the sight of the early morning light breaking through a thin crack in the thick canopy. The voices, coming from somewhere in the trees, were urgent, worried (_angry?_), and drawing steadily closer.

Unlike the silver-haired stranger, these other voices were intimidating, invasive (_intruders!_). The near-forgotten distrust and panic welled up in him and, trembling, the boy scrambled away towards his refuge in the bushes.

And his retreat was not a minute too soon, for as soon as he stilled in the bushes (upwind, motionless, hidden), two figures—tall and imposing, faceless, white with masks and armor—landed in the small clearing where the silver-haired stranger lay, still unconscious. The boy was gripped with a moment of anxiety when the two masked figures bent over the stranger.

"Damnit, Kakashi," one of them muttered, "Why do you always get yourself into these kinds of messes?"

The other figure checked his vitals, "He's alive." The figure announced with relief, "But…one broken arm and several third degree burns…if we don't get him a medic soon…" he left the second part unsaid.

"He'll live." The first figure said, matter-of-factly but with a hint of exasperation, "He always does. Stubborn bastard."

"True," the other figure sighed, "Let's get him back." He slipped an arm underneath the stranger's body, lifting him slowly into a half-sitting position.

The boy was frozen with indecision that was almost a fear: they were going to leave with the stranger! He wanted to do _something_, but the small part of himself that shouted _beware! (They want to hurt you, all of them)_ kept him from moving, stayed his hand and his voice. He could only watch as his body betrayed him and he did nothing as the two figures—along with the stranger—disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Finally, when the clearing was empty of people, the boy slowly crawled out of his hiding place, looking around dejectedly in the futile hope that there was still some way to follow. But the stranger was gone, and, again, he was alone in the forest.

Alone…hot liquid welled up in his eyes, filling the blue orbs. Not even his white teddy bear was left—it had been with the stranger when they had taken him away. The tears spilled out onto his face in a torrent, burning as he released his heartache into the cool air of morning.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He could tell that there was sunlight falling on his face from the warmth and radiance that threatened to break through the protective darkness of his eyelids. _Sunlight?_

Kakashi cracked open his right eye, blinking in the bright sunlight. The first thing he saw was a cream-colored ceiling, a very _familiar_ cream-colored ceiling. _The hospital?_ He wondered, mind still clouded with anesthetic-induced sleep. The initial moment of confusion passed, and with the resurfacing clarity came the memories of the previous night: the successful assassination, the not-so-successful retreat, the pursuit by the target's subordinates. He remembered staggering through the forest, and then…his eye went wide, _the boy!_

He sat up—or at least tried to. . As soon as he braced his right arm against the bed to rise, the movement was thwarted by a jolt of pain, dulled by the painkillers but not completely gone. He bit his lip to keep back a pained curse, _broken and it'll take at least three weeks to fully heal._ He allowed his head to fall back onto the pillow. _I'll just have to find another way to escape…_

"Don't even think about it." A disapproving voice admonished from somewhere to the left. Kakashi turned his head slightly, glancing towards the source of the voice. A familiar face appeared in the periphery of his vision, he inclined his head as best as he could in greeting, "Sarutobi-san."

Asuma frowned, chewing on his cigarette, which remained unlit, much to his irritation (because the medics would carry out their threat to kick him out if he actually smoked in the hospital). Still, the feel of the stick in his mouth and the distinctive taste of nicotine soothed his nerves, "Drop the honorifics, Kakashi." He grumbled, "We've known each other long enough."

Though his tone was casual, there was an air of concern that he could not completely hide. The worry was reflected in his eyes, which stared at the silver-haired boy intently. The two of them had been together in ANBU for the past three years—with Asuma actually serving under Kakashi's leadership for the first year—yet he still did not fully understand his silver-haired sempai.

The boy was a genius, younger than Asuma by one year, yet chunin at the age of six and ANBU by thirteen. But the brilliance also came with problems of its own. The responsibility and the loneliness caused by his reputation (_unnatural genius, White Fang's son_) took its toll on him at such a young age, and Asuma could sometimes see Kakashi cracking under the weight. It was evident in the slowly dimming light in his eyes after every mission, the slump of his shoulders when he thought no one was looking, as if he were slowly being crushed under a heavy burden, his tendency to take more and more dangerous missions, no matter the stress on his own body (_in the end, he was just a vulnerable boy, pretending to be invincible_).

The older teen saw these signs and wished he could help. But Kakashi was a loner, fending for himself, letting on one come close after the loss of his few precious people (his chunin team, Asuma remembered, Obito, Rin, and the late Yondaime). So Asuma could only watch with growing anxiety as Kakashi was slowly buried under the demands, his solitude, leaving a shell of a shinobi that was ruthlessly efficient.

"Asuma, then." Kakashi corrected himself, "Why are you here?" Though the ANBU captain's bared face was expressionless, unfathomable; he might as well have been wearing his wolf mask.

"Can't I visit a friend?" Asuma asked, trying to sound lighthearted. It didn't come out as he had hoped; instead, his voice came out strained and anxious.

Kakashi blinked, giving no sign that he had noticed the tone, "A friend?" he repeated, sounding slightly puzzled. A slightly awkward silence descended as the melancholy in Asuma's eyes deepened; was it so unbelievable that he considered Kakashi to be a friend?

"So, how have you been doing lately?" the older teenager asked, grasping for something to say to breath the silence. As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like slapping himself, _He's in the hospital with a broken arm and third-degree burns, how well do you think he's doing?_

But Kakashi merely glanced nonchalantly at Asuma, "Fine." He answered curtly.

_No, you're not._ Asuma's face fell into a frown, "I meant, how have you been _feeling_?"

Kakashi, arched a silver eyebrow, "I said," his voice a was carefully neutral, "I'm-"

The frustration born of concern that had been mounting ever since Asuma had discovered the silver-haired ANBU captain, injured and unconscious in the forest the morning before, finally boiled over, "Don't give me that crap, Kakashi. You're _not_ fine, and we all know it! Damnit, why do you have to cut yourself away from everyone? You pretend that everything's okay, but we aren't blind, we can see that you're suffering! Can't you see that what you're doing is going to kill you one day?"_ Can't you see that we care?_

When he finished, Asuma could feel his heart pounding from the sheer emotion, and his eyes riveted on Kakashi's face, waiting intently for his reaction. The ANBU captain's eyes were wide, staring at Asuma with surprise, yet the older teen could (or thought he could) discern something else, an emotion that had been hidden deep, unearthed and not yet ready for the light.

Suddenly, Asuma realized that he was watching Kakashi's seamless façade break, sending spiderweb-cracks from where the loneliness and hurt and heartache peeped out. He held his breath, wishing, hoping that _this_ time the silver-haired genius (or idiot, depending on how you looked at it) would finally open up, finally understand…

And then the emotions were gone, replaced by the inky, mirror-like surface of Kakashi's dark eye. The mask was back on, and the face once more indecipherable. "I'm _fine_." He repeated pointedly. It was almost a snap, and Asuma knew that this conversation was over. He wanted to groan in frustration, but settled with a quiet sigh of defeat. He knew Kakashi too well to think that he could do anything to change his mind.

The dark-haired teen rose to leave, absentmindedly tossing his cigarette into a nearby trash bin. As he put one foot over the threshold of the door, he paused. "Oh yeah," he said, turning around to face Kakashi, "I almost forgot."

He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out something, "You were carrying this when we found you." He tossed the object to Kakashi, who caught it reflexively with his left hand.

"Never knew you were into these things." Asuma said, slightly teasingly. And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Now alone in the sun-drenched hospital room, Kakashi stared at the object in his hands, blinking in confusion. The one-eyed face of the once-white and now faded-gray teddy bear smiled back at him, doing nothing to answer his bewilderment.

TBC


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

AN: Yay! Chapter four is finally up! And, since my birthday was a few days ago, I am finally 16! Old enough to get a driver's license (though I'd have to know how to drive first). I'd like to give thanks to all the readers who left reviews (55 already!). This chapter doesn't have much action, or much of Naruto, but he'll have his part in the next chapter. ^_^

I realized that I'm not really writing faster during the summer. Too much homework, especially since my mom wants to five me all this extra stuff. Urgh, and it's only going to get worse from now on. At least now I have an internet.

Chapter Four: Inquiries

Kakashi studied the white teddy bear in his hands. _Where did I get this? _He wondered silently. He did not remember ever playing with a stuffed toy, even when he was small, so why...his thoughts went back to the night in the forest. He had been running, or trying to find his way back…_trees, pain, enemies, fighting, falling, a blonde child...of course! The boy!_

He glanced at the bear again, remembering that the boy had held something in his hands when he had stepped from the bushes. _So he…gave it to me?_

The theory was a confusing one, why would a child give his much-loved (judging from its worn state) stuffed toy to a complete stranger? And back to the real question, just who _was_ the blue-eyed boy that he had seen in the forest?

The blue eyes and the blonde hair, not to mention the whisker marks on his face…the answer was obvious: the Kyuubi container. The Jinchuuriki. Minato-sensei's son. Kakashi felt a pang of guilt at the last statement…he had not kept track of what happened to his sensei's son for the last three—or was it four?—years. He had been too caught up in his own grief and remorse, joining ANBU, taking the hardest missions because it was the only way he could _forget,_ the only time when he did not have to think of anything besides life and death.

Hell, he didn't even remember the boy's name, Nasu- Naru-_something_. He thought the boy (if the boy was who he thought he was) was living in the orphanage, not abandoned somewhere in the forest! The ANBU captain sighed, running his fingers through the matted fur of the stuffed bear, feeling the guilt tear through his long-forgotten heart.

His gaze turned towards the sky outside the window, where the early afternoon sun illuminated the faces carved on the Hokage monument, clearly visible from his room. His dark eye alighted on the last face, the familiar face of the Fourth Hokage. Mentally, Kakashi compared it with the young face of the child in the forest. There was no doubt in his mind that they two of them were related, father and son.

The silver-haired youth closed his eyes, _I'm sorry, sensei, I failed to protect him._

_But I will find him._ He promised. But whether the promise was to his sensei or to himself he did not know.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After his tears had been exhausted, the boy picked up the bone white mask from the ground, where the figures had left it when they took the stranger away. That, and the dark stain on the ground with the lingering metallic scent, were the only pieces of evidence that the silver-haired stranger had ever been there.

The mask was painted and shaped into the snarling face of a wolf, and it smelled of loneliness. The boy had once seen a lone wolf, separated from its pack, prowling the forest near his hollow tree. The mask he held now had the same scent as the wolf, deadly, melancholy, _lonely_. And the white material that could have been bone or porcelain, was as cold as ice or snow, or the silence of lonely nights.

But he had the feeling if he held it long enough, and if he wished hard enough, then maybe it would lose its lonely scent and chilly touch. And maybe the stranger would come back.

The sun was already specks of golden light on the forest floor (_he remembered a different sun, a golden disk in the sky, but that sun shone in a different place, a different time of unwanted memories_). The boy stood up and headed away towards his river from where he had come the night before and found a silver-haired stranger.

This time, however, he cradled in his arms a bone white mask instead of a teddy bear.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Sandaime Hokage was old, and he knew it. Sixty years was a long time, and the years had taken their toll on him, in the tiredness as he worked the many stacks of papers, the sudden blurring in his eyesight when he read smaller print, the ache in his heart as he thought of all the things he had failed to protect (_friends, comrades, a generation of innocent children lost to war_). He had not been able to save the Yondaime, who sacrificed himself for Konoha, _And now even Minato's legacy…_

He sighed, rubbing his temples and trying to ignore the guilt he felt whenever he remembered the small blonde child who had gone missing six months ago. A knock on his door drew his thoughts away from the past, and he wondered if it was his chunin assistant with more stacks of paperwork or a jonin here to ask for another mission.

Instead, it was a masked, silver-haired teenager whom the Sandaime recognized from an old picture of Team Minato, and, more recently, from the papers for said teenager's promotion to ANBU captain. "Kakashi-kun." He greeted, mildly surprised.

The teenager gave the ANBU salute, left-handedly, as his right arm was trapped in a sling. The sight of this, along with the not-completely hidden limp and bandages peeking from underneath his shirt, elicited another pang of guilt. Another one of Minato's children he had failed to protect.

"You should be in the hospital." He rebuked gently, "If I recall correctly, you aren't scheduled to be released until next week."

This particular piece of information he had gotten from Asuma, who had informed his father of his concern about Kakashi, a concern that the Sandaime shared. It did not go unnoticed to him that the teenager was requesting more and more A and S-class missions, and coming back each time in worse shape. But their village was undermanned, having lost many shinobi in the war and the Kyuubi attack, and he could not afford to refuse Kakashi's requests. He only hoped that it would not be too late to save him.

Kakashi shrugged in answer to the Hokage's slight reprimand, "Gai was coming to visit." He muttered, sounding suddenly like the seventeen-year-old that he should have been. The Sandaime raised an eyebrow, half in amusement. It was ironic that the energetic, green-clad jonin (soon to be ANBU as well), a complete opposite of Kakashi, would be the one to break through the silver-haired teen's icy exterior, but the Sandaime was glad for the proof that Kakashi was not as cold and distant as he had been during the period after Minato's sacrifice.

But the achingly human moment passed as quickly as it came, and the boy was once again expressionless, "And I wanted to ask you something." He added curtly.

At the latter statement, the Hokage's eyebrows rose, "Ask me something?" he repeated. It was not often that the youngest ANBU captain came to him for advice.

Kakashi's dark eye regarded him intently, searching his face for…something. The Sandaime could not tell, because the teenager's expression was as inscrutable as ever: literally so, since his cloth mask hid most of his face.

"Minato-sensei's son…the child that has the Kyuubi sealed inside him-" Kakashi began. There was only the faintest trace of hesitation in his voice, the rest was carefully hidden under the cool detached tone he used most often. Nonetheless, the statement earned him a sharp glance from the Hokage, "Kakashi! It is forbidden by law to speak of that. The boy's name is Naruto."

"My apologies," the silver-haired teenager quickly corrected himself, _Naruto, huh? That's exactly something Minato-sensei would name his child _(_a pang of nostalgia, for days long lost and a happy blonde dragging a small silver-haired boy out for another lunch at the ramen stand_)_ ._ "I wanted to ask what became of Naruto."

The Sandaime's eyes went wide with surprise as he nearly bit his tongue, _Of all the things to ask…why this?_

His surprise was not unreasonable; ever since Kakashi had held the newborn in his arms as his sensei performed the jutsu that would save the village and rob it of its Yondaime Hokage, the teenager had not come to see the boy. No one had, since the features of the child, though young, were unmistakably those of the Yondaime, yet the dark whisker marks on the boy's face were undeniably the vestiges of the monster which had nearly destroyed them all.

And though the Sandaime would have liked to give Naruto a guardian, he was sorely lacking in candidates, and too busy with the duties of rebuilding a village to take in the child himself, so the infant had gone to the orphanage. The most he could do was pass a decree making it illegal to speak of the secret to the younger generation, so that Naruto might have the smallest chance of making friends. And the young boy had, as far as the Sandaime could tell, done well enough. Until he simply disappeared six months ago.

The Sandaime lifted his eyes to meet Kakashi's intense gaze. There was something weary and infinitely sad about those eyes (_which had had borne witness to not one, but two of the Shinobi Wars_), but also an untiring strength and optimism (_believing that the lost could be found, the broken fixed, and everything could turn out okay_ _in the end, if you tried hard enough_) that Kakashi wished he could feel himself.

"I'm sorry, Kakashi." The Sandaime said calmly (_he knew too well the feeling of loss for it to affect his outer appearance_), "But Naruto-kun has been missing for a while now."

As expected, Kakashi recoiled slightly, the shock, guilt, and regret flashing through his visible eye too quickly for most people to catch, before his eye broke contact with the Sandaime's and reverted to its mirror-like semblance, hiding the churning emotions underneath the falsely calm surface. But the Sandaime saw, and he knew that the ANBU captain was again blaming himself for the things beyond his control. "I should have _done_ something." the teenager muttered in a choked whisper racked with guilt.

"Do not try to place the blame on yourself." The Sandaime advised kindly, though he had done the exact same thing when he had first heard of the boy's disappearance. "You are in no way responsible. You could not have known."

"But-"

"The situation is being handled. I have sent several ANBU units to investigate already." The Sandaime continued. He did not mention that there was no sign of where the boy had gone, or even if he was alive. Though he was sure the ANBU he had sent would inspect the circumstances thoroughly, he knew it would be from their loyalty to him, and not their love for the Kyuubi vessel.

"I will go-" Kakashi started to say, but the Sandaime interrupted him abruptly.

"No." the Sandaime did not quite understand himself why he had refused the request, but the words had leapt from his tongue almost without his consent and before he could fully understand the reasons behind them.

"Why not?" the silver-haired teenager demanded, echoing the Hokage's thoughts. He sounded uncharacteristically upset and confused; The Sandaime did not know whether to be glad, as this was the most emotion Kakashi had shown in a long time, or guilty that he was denying the boy a chance at redemption that he clearly needed.

_Why not indeed? Because there is almost no chance Naruto is alive? Because I do not want to give you false hope only to break your heart and force upon you another burden of undeserved guilt? Because I need to protect you (for Minato, because I promised), even if it is from yourself._

"Because," He replied instead, "I need you for other missions, Kakashi. You are one of the best we have, and an ANBU captain to boot. Konoha needs you now, and your duty binds you to the greater good of your village than to…personal matters."

Kakashi was silent, and now the Sandaime could no longer fathom what he was thinking. But instinct told him that there was something more to the teenager's silence than simple guilt; there was thoughtfulness (_or was it determination?_) in his eye, in the slight tilt of his head and the nearly imperceptible straightening of his shoulders, the clenching of his left hand by his side.

Finally he nodded, still not meeting the Sandaime's eyes. "I understand." He answered, though it was clear he did not, "I'll take my leave now." He started towards the door.

The Sandaime frowned, knowing exactly what the boy was thinking. "You should return to the hospital." he said, a not so subtle order. As if in response to their leader's thoughts, two dark-cloaked figures of ANBU materialized in the office, kneeling before the Hokage.

"Escort Hatake-san back to the hospital." The Sandaime instructed, as the injured teenager slumped in defeat.

As he left, flanked by two ANBU, he heard the Hokage speak again, his voice amused, "He has a…visitor waiting to lecture him on the power of youth."

Kakashi slumped even further.

TBC


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

AN: I'm so sorry for the long wait! But I couldn't find a good place to cut off, so this chapter was a little longer than I anticipated. But no worries, it's done now (albeit a little rough) and posted for your enjoyment.

Oh yeah, I'd like to thank some reviewers for pointing out an error in the previous chapters (you know who you are, but I don't really remember)…I spelled Sandaime wrong. So I went back and corrected that. :D

Chapter Five: Reencounter

After Gai's visit, during which Kakashi had conveniently fallen asleep due to the 'fatigue of recuperation' which only elicited more declarations of appreciation for his 'cool' and 'hip' attitude (Kakashi was thankful that the green-clad jonin did not find the teddy bear; the consequences would have been horrific, even by ANBU standards), the silver-haired teenager stared at the cream-colored ceiling. He was, ironically enough, unable to sleep; the young face of a blue-eyed boy haunted his thoughts.

_His name is Naruto._

It was clear what he had to do—it had been clear ever since the Hokage had refused his request to join the search for the boy. There was no way Kakashi could calmly rest in the hospital when he knew Naruto was somewhere in the forests of Konoha known for being fraught with peril. _Screw the Hokage's orders, I'll find him myself if I have to._

He extracted himself from the swathe of white hospital blankets and swung his legs around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Then, careful not to jar his injured arm so much, he slid off the bed, landing on his feet silently, with all the stealth of a…well, a ninja.

On the way out, he grabbed the white teddy bear (which had been stuffed under his pillow when a certain green-clad, youthful friend had come to visit), his ANBU cloak (to hide his hospital clothes), and his mask (because he really felt out of place without it). As an afterthought, he left a decoy in his place, just in case—the hospital staff usually did not take it kindly when they found that their patients had disappeared overnight.

Then he slipped out the window, silent as a hunting wolf despite his broken arm, and disappeared over the rooftops.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It did not take long for Kakashi to find the site of his encounter with Naruto; the metallic tang of his blood (a smell that made him uncomfortable, even though it was a scent he knew too well) still lingered, though the bodies and bloodstains had long been disposed of by ANBU (_their policy of leave no evidence_).

The clearing where he had met the boy was charred (the only way to remove the bloody stains he had created) and he wrinkled his nose slightly at the burnt scent (way too remindful of the fire jutsu that had given him the bandages on his side).

There was, however, no sign of the boy.

Kakashi frowned, realizing all of a sudden that he had no idea where to start looking; finding the boy had been the _only_ thing on his mind, so he had come without a plan for this situation. In retrospect, it was an uncharacteristic oversight that he should have avoided.

He sighed, knowing he would have to use a technique he would rather not, as it would consume more chakra than he could comfortably spare. Still, there was no turning back now, unless he wanted to face another agonizing day of hospital care. He brought his thumb to his mouth, biting down on it hard enough to break skin and draw blood, the taste sweet and salty on his tongue. Drops of crimson beaded on the surface of the small wound, and as he smeared his thumb on the ground, it left a dark streak in the burnt grass.

For a second, there was no reaction, the ground remained cold and hard. Then, as suddenly as the first stirrings of spring, he felt the warm energy pulse, even as the chakra was drawn from him through his fingers and entering the complex seal that bloomed beneath his touch like a spiderweb of dark-lined symbols.

A puff of smoke materialized above his hand, accompanied by a wave of dizziness caused by the sudden loss of the greater portion of his remaining chakra. For a moment Kakashi was afraid that he might pass out, and he struggled to break free of the dark spots on the edges of his vision. But the dizziness passed quickly, and soon he found himself staring into the concerned face of a brown pug.

"Long time no see, pup." Pakkun greeted, raising a paw in greeting. There was a look of disapproval on his furry face, "What have you done to yourself this time?"

"It's nothing. I was…careless." Kakashi answered dismissively, though he knew that they both knew he was not fooling anyone, "But I need you to find someone for me." The quick change of subject did not go unnoticed (Pakkun raised a doggy eyebrow), but he did not mention it.

"Of course." The pug snorted, "What is it this time?"

Wordlessly, Kakashi held out the grayish white blob of a teddy-bear. The surprise was evident on Pakkun's face, "What are you doing with _that_, pup? I knew you had a deprived childhood but-"

Kakashi coughed pointedly, "It's not mine." He explained quickly, "I just need you to track the scent on this."

Pakkun laughed, a deep laugh that sounded more like a bark (he could scent the slight blush and embarrassment that heated up the young human-master's face), "Chill, pup. I'll get to it." _You've been so distant these days, it's a relief to finally get some kind of reaction from you._ Pakkun took a few whiffs of the teddy bear, isolating the scent that Kakashi wanted him to track.

_Strange, it smells like a young human, and a skinny, dirty one too. Who exactly does this bear belong to?_ But Pakkun did not voice his misgivings (he trusted his master knew what he was doing), and started to search the area for that particular scent.

He found it, fairly recent, in a small clump of shrubbery. "This way!" he instructed curtly, looking back only to make sure that Kakashi hadn't collapsed or anything, before running off on the trail of the teddy-bear scent, leading the silver-haired ANBU deeper into the forest, towards the one who would, though they did not know it then, change their lives.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The boy sensed their arrival from the sudden quiet of the forest, the inexplicable chill that he felt, a premonition he was too young to ignore. And then there were the voices, three different people that he recognized, and with them came the cold feeling of fear in his stomach, clenching his heart like an inescapable hand.

"Why the hell are we still here? The brat is probably long dead by now! There's no way anything can survive in this place!"

A distant memory resurfaced in the boy's mind of the same voice that filled him with dread (_"Where is that demon?"_), just as a second voice sounded.

"We can't take that chance. Letting it escape in the first place was a mistake, one that we must correct now."

(_"Just keep looking. That monster is impossible to miss."_)

The boy moved quietly (_never make too much noise because then they'll find you, the wolves, bears and people who try to hurt you_), crouched down quietly, deeper in the bushes where he hoped (_desperately, hopelessly_) that they would not find him.

"We've been looking for half a year already, so maybe-" The third voice, a nervous tenor, piped up and was promptly ignored.

"You saw that pack of wolves! They probably ate it a long time ago! We're just wasting our time!"

"Just shut up and look. The sooner we find it and get rid of it for good, the sooner we can go back."

The boy hunched down lower in his hiding spot, trying to make himself smaller (_so small that they can't find him, that he might disappear, that no one can ever, ever hurt him_). The voices, and the now audible footsteps, drew closer, nearing the clump of undergrowth where he hid.

"He's got to be here somewhere…" one of the searchers muttered, kicking a bush.

(_"We're doing the village a favor by getting rid of this monster."_)

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clutching something so tightly he was afraid it might break. It was, he realized, the white painted mask that the stranger left behind (_snarling wolf, bone-colored porcelain_). And though it looked so fine it might break with too much pressure, the mask held firm in his white-knuckled grasp, giving the boy the illusion that it was indestructible, so he gripped it as if letting go would be to stop breathing.

But the footsteps came closer, inevitably towards him. Panic fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird, there was no place to hide anymore, he would be found if he stayed…

(_Run, monster. There's no one here to help you._)

Silver hair and a dark lonely eye. The image appeared in the boy's mind like a beacon, a guide, a light in the darkness. _He is different from them, he is like me. He will help._ He knew what to do now, but still he was scared, overwhelmed by the paralyzing fear that was, like a snake, strangling the small amount of courage he had gathered.

The porcelain in his hands was warm to the touch.

With a deep breath to escape the inevitable, he burst forward from his hiding place, feet grappling for ground, hands holding tight his salvation.

And he ran.

(_He is running, aching, fleeing._)

The voices behind him turned from surprised exclamations to angry shouts.

(_Behind him, their voices are harsh, angry, full of bloodlust._)

He knew that he had been on the path before, and he knew how the story would end, but this time there was a light in the darkness, (_hair the color of the splinters of moonlight_) and hope in his hands, so he ran again and knew that this time things might be different.

There was a flash of color in front of him that was not the deep green or bark brown of the forests, (_silvery, beautiful, almost within reach_). The boy ran for it, dodging the branches that tried to grab him, leaping over the roots that tried to trip him.

It was the stranger.

The stranger had a thousand words in his eye, but there was no time for all of them, and as the boy hid behind him (in the way that he had seen other children hide behind their parents but had never done himself), the thousand words compressed into a single word and escaped his lips, "_Naruto_…"

"Hey! Get back here you little-" three angry shinobi burst through the foliage, their voices and their anger making the boy cringe from his hiding spot behind the stranger's legs but not run.

The sight of the silver-haired stranger stopped the three shinboi in their tracks, skidding to a halt with confusion on their faces. Kakashi, who had noticed their hateful expressions and the trembling, blonde bundle behind his legs, had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

"What the-who are you?" one of the new arrivals demanded of Kakashi. The ANBU captain swept his eye over the shinobi—a middle aged man with a pair of parallel scars running down his face.

"I don't care who the hell you are, just hand over the demon child and we'll let you live." His companion growled menacingly. Kakashi stared at him, unimpressed. Intimidation tactics never worked on someone who had seen more death and destruction in his seventeen years of life than most people had in a lifetime (_and more often than not he was the cause of the death and destruction, descending with a bright flash of light and the sound of a thousand birds_). The third and final person, a nervous-looking shinobi smaller than his two companions, did not speak, but lingered behind them like a shadow.

"I think not." Kakashi's voice was soft, yet it carried in still air, slicing through the tension that was building. The anger in his voice was subtle, but Pakkun felt his hackles rise almost unconsciously at the vehemence of the anger. He had not seen his master this angry in a long time…

The three shinobi seemed taken aback by his blunt refusal, and the scarred one who had first spoken tried a different tactic, "We're warning you, kid. That child is a monster, the Kyuubi brat. It doesn't deserve to live, so we're just doing everyone a favor by getting rid of it."

Something snapped inside Kakashi. It was not a visible change, but suddenly the three ninja felt as if they had been immersed in cold water, and the icy tendrils of fear clutched at their hearts. The look in Kakashi's eye was one of cold fury, and his hands clenched at his sides tight enough for his nails to draw blood.

His was the look of a killer. A second later, the murderous aura slammed into the three shinbi with the force of an unstoppable wall; it was the cold of a scythe cutting through their souls, the feeling of a being pierced by a thousand birds chirping angrily, the pain of being torn, ripped, shredded…_this is what it must feel like to die_. And there was no doubt in their minds that he could make it happen. The same dark thought passed through all of their minds, _How can a kid have such a bloodthirsty aura?_

"If you hadn't been Konoha shinobi," Kakashi growled, raising a hand to his face, "I would have killed you right then. As it is-" Slowly, deliberately, he pushed up his hitae-ate. Beneath it, the Sharingan spun lazily, blood-red and unmistakably deadly. "-you have ten seconds."

The three shinobi felt their breaths catch in their throats and their hearts skip a beat, because there was no mistaking the one who now stood before them. "S-sharingan no K-Kakashi…" the smallest one whimpered.

Everyone knew of Sharingan no Kakashi, the rising prodigy, the last Hatake (_the White Fang's brat, unnatural child, possessor of Sharingan. No mere child should be this powerful_).

"Ten." Kakashi started counting down coolly. In his left eye, the Sharingan gained speed, black and red swirling angrily.

The shinobi didn't wait for nine. They turned and ran as if the apocalypse was imminent, never looking back for fear of finding the death god on their heels, until they reached the gates of Konoha.

As soon as the sound of their stampede through the forest disappeared, Kakashi quickly pulled down his hitae-ate again with a sigh of relief; though he had not used his Sharingan, it still sapped his chakra. The uncontrollable anger he had felt was gone now, replaced with exhaustion, and he knew he would have to get back to Konoha quickly, before his strength ran out.

Suddenly, he felt small hands tugging on his pant leg, tentative but urgent. Instinctively, Kakashi stiffened, looking down. He was met with a pair of worried blue eyes the same hue as the cloudless autumn sky. Naruto was holding out something towards him, something the color of snow. Kakashi's eye widened slightly; it was his ANBU mask.

Kakashi stared at it for a moment, during which Naruto waited nervously (_would he want it? Is he angry?_), before plucking it gently from the boy's hands. His eye curved happily, and even though he was wearing a mask, it was clear he was smiling.

"…Thanks."

A strange feeling came over Naruto with this word and gesture (_that buoyant feeling of ineffability, bursting from its long imprisonment, not relief, not acceptance, but happiness_), leaving him warm inside. When he looked back up, the stranger (_no, not a stranger any more_), was rummaging through the pockets of his cloak. He removed something very familiar from it, holding it out for Naruto to take.

The warm glow inside the boy intensified, and his face broke into a bright smile (_Kakashi felt his heart skip a beat, because it was the same smile that had greeted him on his first day out of the academy, a smile he thought he would never see again_), and Kakashi was tempted to stop there and stare at it forever. But instead he bent down to take the boy's hand, leading the way back home.

"Come on," he said softly, looking in the direction of Konoha (_the beautiful and unfeeling village that had once been, and would soon be again, home to both of them_), "Let's go home."

TBC

I know, cheesy ending right? XP


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: see first chapter

AN: Oh wow, there were a _lot_ of reviews for the last chapter. I guess everyone is happy that Kakashi has finally taken Naruto in. XP

I haven't updated in over a week, and I apologize for that…it's just that the scene with Gai gave me so much trouble (And I still don't know how I did with him. please tell me how if he's OOC or anything). So I kept pushing it off until tonight, when I finally decided what the heck and finished the chapter in one breath. So yeah. Enjoy.

Chapter Six: Dilatory Visits to Old Friends

Kakashi did not know how he made it all the way home without being caught by one of the patrolling shinobi who had undoubtedly been told to look out for hospital escapees, or without passing out from chakra exhaustion (_the Sharingan was a blessing and a curse, a trait that was unmistakably Obito_). But he did, holding a sleeping child in his free arm and preceded by a small brown pug.

Naruto's form was warm against his side (_hope lost and found, fire rekindled, ice melted away_), the boy's breathing was steady, with one hand wrapped around his dirty, frayed, teddy bear and the other around Kakashi's neck even in sleep. And his was an exhausted sleep and thankfully dreamless, without nightmares and the demons of a boy who had been through hell.

The door to his apartment was closed, and it was a tricky process to open it using no hands, but Kakashi eventually managed to do it because what kind of prodigy can't even open his own front door? With a sigh of relief, he stumbled inside, not even bothering to take off his sandals before collapsing heavily on the sofa. Naruto shifted slightly with the movement, his arm around Kakashi's neck tightening the tiniest bit, but he did not wake.

A sort of peaceful silence settled over them all, more from exhaustion than lack of things to say. Pakkun finally broke the silence with a question, "So, pup. Care to explain?"

"His name's Naruto." Kakashi answered. His voice cracked slightly when he continued "He's…Minato-sensei's son."

"Ah. I thought he smelled familiar." Pakkun noted, his nose twitching.

"I…should have done more for him." Kakashi muttered, "This should have never happened."

"Don't kill yourself over it." Pakkun advised sagely, not without some sadness. _You were always quick to blame yourself. _"It's not healthy."

Kakashi let out a quick laugh, which turned into a yawn. He was more tired than he thought. "Go to sleep," Pakkun ordered sternly.

A small, unseen smile tugged at the corners of Kakashi's mouth, "You sound like a nagging old woman." He murmured, but his eye was drifting shut already.

Pakkun snorted and was about to reply when he noticed that Kakashi had already fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. The brown pug closed his mouth, lapsing into silence again. Pakkun's eyes softened, as he plopped down on the sofa beside the two, in his eyes, children (_pups too stubborn for their own good_).

_At least they're both safe._ Pakkun mused, laying his head down on a pillow. Soon, there was only the sound of three pairs of lungs, breathing in and out in the steady, rhythmic pace of sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Out of habit, Kakashi woke in the early hours of the morning, when the sky was bleached white and stained red with dawn. He sat up slowly, careful not to wake the two other occupants of the sofa, where they had unceremoniously fallen asleep the night before. With a slight smile, he deftly extracted himself from Naruto's death grip, placing a slightly tattered pillow in the boy's arms as compensation.

He was stiff, the result of spending a night on a sofa instead of a bed, and with a broken arm as well. Sighing, he stretched as much as he could, considering said arm, trying to relieve the stiffness in his limbs. A pang in his left eye (_Obito's black and crimson orb_) reminded him of the reckless (_but necessary; he didn't regret it_) behavior the night before, and he rubbed it, as well as his own, sleep-crusted eye.

The thought of his friend jolted him fully awake, like a pang of conscience, _I haven't visited Obito and Rin in a while._ He had been caught up in his missions and, more recently, his self-appointed rescue operation for a certain blonde child.

He glanced at said blonde child, wondering if he should leave the boy alone, even for a moment. the corners of Naruto's mouth, he noted with no small amount of nostalgia, were uplifted into a slight smile, even as he left a dark stain of drool on Kakashi's couch (_how often had he seen the same smile on the face of another, and how often had his younger self rolled his eyes and dismissed it as another dream of ramen or Kushina?_). He looked…cute (_even Kakashi blinked a bit at this thought because "cute" was not a work he used often, if ever_). Beside the boy, Pakkun shifted slightly in his doggy dreams, moving his mouth as if biting someone in his sleep.

_I'll just be gone a while,_ Kakashi assured himself, _and Pakkun is here if wakes up while I'm gone._

And with these reassurances in mind, as well as the prospect of a long-awaited reunion with his former teammates, the silver-haired ANBU leapt onto the windowsill—he was ANBU, after all, and ANBU didn't deign to use doors. After a final glance back towards the two sleeping figures, he leapt off in a blur of silver and black, in the direction of the memorial stone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Hello, Obito, Rin, Sensei." Kakashi murmured. He stood in front of the jutting, obsidian obelisk that was the memorial stone for Konoha's fallen heroes. The silver-crowned visitor bowed his head, his dark eye lingering on each name he recognized (_which numbered more than he would have liked_), but pausing for an especially long time on the three he had come to talk to.

_Obito._

"Long time no see, huh. Sorry I'm late, but I got caught up in a few things, ANBU missions and stuff. You'd tell me to take it easy and have some fun, but everything's for the village, right? You'd never guess who I've found; Minato-sensei's son." Kakashi laughed softly, a fluid, almost inaudible sound in the crisp morning air, "And there we were, thinking he'd never be mature enough to settle down with one woman."

_Rin._

"Don't worry, I'm a bit worse for wear, but at least I'm still alive and kicking. Though you probably know that already. Knowing you, if I had died there, I would never hear the end of it. I…I think I miss having you here to patch me up, the medics at the hospitals are too…persistent." His mouth turned up in a smile; he knew that would make her laugh, "I know you'd tell me to take better care of myself, Rin. I will."

…

_Minato-sensei._

"I'm sorry for not coming sooner. I found Naruto, about four years too late. God, he looks so much like you, sensei, he could almost be a carbon copy. " His laugh was slightly sadder this time, like his eye, "I know you would tell me to stop blaming myself (Pakkun did too, and Hokage-sama), but I can't help it. Because no matter how hard I try I can't seem to do anything right, I'm always too late." _For Obito and Rin and Naruto…_

The dark surface of the memorial stone was as smooth as usual, yet Kakashi imagined he could hear the voices of his lost friends echoing in the silence (_or were those just vivid memories of voices floating back to haunt him?_). He did not, however, imagine the loud shout that disturbed the peace (_and the memories shattered like the fragile edges of a soap bubble in face of an overly inquisitive child's finger_).

"Kakashi, my Eternal Rival!" there was no need for the latest arrival to introduce himself, because no one else in Konoha wore such tight-fitting clothes (they were not good for concealing hidden weapons), or had such a bright, almost blinding smile (it was not good for missions that required subtlety).

"Gai." Kakashi groaned, all thoughts of a quiet morning gone. _Of all the people to find me…_

"Ah, I have been searching for you, My Rival!" Gai practically shouted, "The ever so benevolent staff of our ever so compassionate local hospital is not pleased with your uncooperative desertion."

Said deserter twitched; he was not in the mood to listen to another one of Gai's orations. And what irked him the most was he could not escape, because for all the weirdness of Gai's training, it was surprisingly effective, meaning the taijutsu master was impossible for him to outrun in his current injured state.

"I have made a vow on my glorious youth," The green-clad jonin announced proudly, "That if I do not find you then I will-"

"I get it, Gai." Kakashi sighed, waving a hand dismissively, "You found me. Commendable job. But I am currently engaged in an urgent task, so if you would be so kind as to return from whence you came." _Hopefully that will throw him off._

But it didn't, and instead, Gai's (thick) brows drew together in an uncharacteristic frown. "I do not understand My Rival's increased aloofness from his fellow peers." The green-clad jonin's voice was toned down a bit, more sober than his usual boisterous shouting, and surprisingly serious, "The flower of our Glorious Youth should not be squandered with such unyouthful estrangement."

Kakashi raised an eyebrow; this strangely subdued version of Gai was not something he was used to (_since when did he become so perceptive?_). He vaguely considered asking who he was and what had he done to the real Gai, or maybe just walk away and forget it had ever happened (_don't let the mask crack again, don't let anyone get too close again, you'll only hurt yourself again_).

"I'm sorry," the silver-haired ANBU answered, rather coldly (_he didn't feel anything, he assured himself, at the dimming of the hopeful light in Gai's eyes, nor at the pathetic disappointment that followed_), "But I really must leave. Right now." _Naruto might be waking up any moment…_

"But My Eternal Rival!" Gai recovered from his disappointment very quickly, "Your obstinate departure is not beneficial for your salubrity! As your concerned comrade and fellow shinobi, I feel obligated to-"

"Kakashi!" Gai was interrupted for the second time that morning by the urgent voice of a certain nin-dog. Pakkun arrived at a flat run, panting heavily for breath, skidding to a stop just in front of the two shinobi, "Kakashi," the pug repeated, as if about to say something, but his need for oxygen overturned his next words and he concentrated on getting his breath back.

Two pairs—or actually one and a half pairs—of eyes watched with anxious confusion. "Pakkun," Kakashi asked worriedly (not that he showed it), "What are you doing here?" the words unsaid were clear, _why aren't you back home with Naruto._

"There's…a problem…back home." Pakkun finally managed to gasp out, "With…him. He…needs you."

There was no need to say who he was (_and Kakashi had not had any visitors to his apartment since Rin died_). "I understand." The silver-haired teen said curtly. _I have to go back._

The only one still puzzled was Gai, "What trouble does your noble canine speak of, Kakashi?" he naturally had to ask. But Kakashi was not listening, having already turned around in the direction of Pakkun's arrival and started to leave.

"My Rival! Perhaps I can be of some assistance!" Gai called, following close behind and managing to keep up with relative ease.

Kakashi stopped suddenly, spinning around to face Gai with a stance that implied that they would continue no further together. The green-clad jonin was shocked, however, at his rival's (_friend's, but that went unsaid because as a rule, Sharingan no Kakashi had no friends_) look. It was not of ire, nor of contempt for his help, but merely a great _need_ for something (_redemption, perhaps, alone and unaided_).

There was not a single time, in all the years that Gai had known his rival, that he remembered seeing such intense feeling in the other teen's dark eye (_unless it was the day Rin died, but that emotion was helpless anguish, so deep that it scared Gai because he could do nothing to help and nothing to even understand the loss_).

"Please," Gai was sure there was something wrong because Kakashi _never_ begged, and this was too damn close for comfort, yet his rival continued in the cracked voice that he knew must be coming from elsewhere because Kakashi _never_ showed emotion, "I need to do this alone."

Numbly, Gai stopped (_what could he do, after all, when Kakashi so clearly needed his absence?_). There was gratefulness in Kakashi's onyx-colored eye, "…Thank you." He muttered briefly. And then Kakashi turned around again, continuing on his flight back to the one who needed him (_and whom he so desperately needed as well_).

This time, Gai did not follow.

TBC

AN: kuku, a cliffhanger! Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt poor Naruto any more….or would i? *evil smirk*


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: see first chapter

AN: I really don't like this chapter, because it seems…I dunno, rushed. But it took forever and just about killed me to write, and I am _not_ going to rewrite it again. So yeah. Enjoy.

Also, I'm going to go to a summer camp (yay!) for the next…three weeks. I'm sorry! But I'll be stuck without a computer or internet for most of that time, so I probably won't update for a looong while now. D:

Chapter Seven: Breaking the News

When Naruto woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he was not in the forest. The light was too bright for the gloomy ambiance of the trees; it was almost blinding, even with its full radiance blocked by the curtains. He had seen rooms before, but it had been such a long time ago he could barely remember (_just the outlines of bare walls and blank faces_), and those rooms were nothing like this one (_they were neat to a fault and glaringly empty of everything except people who avoided him, but this room was messy, strewn with things he did and did not recognize, full of scents that he had never smelled before_).

The second thing was that he was alone (_no silver-haired stranger-who-was-not, no comforting dark, lonely eyes, no softly spoken words to show that he was still wanted_).

Panic welled up inside him almost immediately, like a silent yet terrifying shadow that threatened to swallow him up into oblivion in this strange and foreign world (_alone like the day he was driven away, alone like he had always been_). His breath shortened, coming out in panicked gasps, his pupils dilated as he looked around wildly, searching for that wasn't there.

In his alarm, he did not notice as he shuffled backwards as if he could escape the loneliness, towards the edge of the sofa. The fall came suddenly, when he felt the edge of his hand slip off the cushion, and he suddenly found that his hand was supported only by air.

He fell (_tumbled backwards, breath leaving his lungs, world spinning in blurred hues_), and landed with a soft thump on the carpeted ground.

The sound, though quiet, woke the other occupant of the room. Pakkun blinked open his brown eyes sleepily, sniffing around for something. The curiosity in his eyes quickly became alarm, because the scent of fear had filled the room like miasma. Its source was the small bundle of blond and torn clothes on the floor, emanating waves of panic and desperation.

"Naruto?" the pug prodded, leaning over the sofa. Surely a mere fall could not have caused such a fearful reaction?

His gaze was met with a wide eyes full of confusion and terror. The two of them maintained eye contact for a few seconds, neither daring to breath, before the wide eyes disappeared, hidden behind skinny arms outstretched to fend off something, but the fear remained palpable in the air.

The pug was starting to worry. This was not normal behavior for, well, _anything_, let alone a four-year-old boy. He opened his mouth to call out once more, when—

The boy let out a pitiful sound (_it reminded Pakkun eerily of the whimpering of wolves who have lost their packs, desolate and despairing_), then stopped moving, as if he had frozen in panic, but that was not the thing that had distracted the nin-dog. Instead, it was the murderous, red aura coming from the boy, a killing intent that seemed to have a mind of its own, that drew his attention.

Pakkun had stood by his master against missing-nins and enemy shinobi with all levels of power, but he had never seen anything like this (_it made his hackles rise, his tail quiver, his breath quicken, his whole body shake with primal fear of something vastly more powerful than he_). _Except…_

_Four years ago, during the Kyuubi attack, _Pakkun realized with a feeling of dread. He remembered all too well the overwhelming aura of the Kyuubi no Youko, and the destruction that it had wrought (_he had woken up to nightmares of it for a long time afterwards_).

The aura that the boy was now giving off was unmistakably the Kyuubi's chakra, albeit an extremely watered-down version of it.

_I have to tell Kakashi about this!_ The thought was the first to run through Pakkun's head once he recovered from the initial shock. The pug stood up immediately, heading towards the open window. And, with a final reluctant glance at the still immobile boy, he disappeared through the window, in search of his master.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kakashi ran, leaping across rooftops and skimming by walls, as fast as he could towards his apartment. Pakkun's words were burned in his mind, urging him on, pounding through his head like a heartbeat. _He…needs you._

The silver-haired teenager stopped suddenly when he reached his window, balancing on the windowsill with his body halfway in. His visible eye widened as he realized just what was wrong with Naruto. Though he could not see the boy from where he stood, he could still feel the raging red aura (_diluted, but still murderous, and still very demonic_) that lashed out towards him, in response to his presence.

He dodged it easily, launching himself fully into the room as the demonic chakra missed the edge of his vest by mere inches. Out of instinct, he rolled to his feet and assumed a defensive position.

"Naruto!" he called out, hoping that the boy was still lucid enough to respond. He didn't know what exactly had caused the boy's panic, but he hoped that the boy still had some vestige of control over the demon inside him. _What the hell happened here?_

And to his relief, the sound of his voice was like a bucket of cold water on the flames, and the red chakra immediately lessened, withdrawing towards the boy's body, unwillingly, it seemed, forced back into its confinement.

Kakashi stayed crouched defensively for a few seconds, just in case, but when the Kyuubi's chakra didn't come again, he slowly relaxed his stance.

His thoughts instantly went to the boy, who lay on the ground, still unmoving, his eyes squeezed shut. "Naruto?" Kakashi murmured, kneeling down beside the boy and placing a hand on his small shoulder.

Naruto was shuddered slightly at his touch, but he opened his eyes. Kakashi was immediately struck by the boy's gaze; his sky-colored eyes were dull and lifeless, his gaze seemed to look through things instead of at them. A feeling of sympathy rose in the silver-haired teen; he had seen the same look in a reflection of mismatched eyes not so long ago, the look of someone who has lost more than he can take, who has been given hope only to have it taken away in an instant (_and he of all people should know what the boy feels like_).

Blue eyes slowly focused again, alighting on the silver-haired teenager. As if waking from a dream (_a nightmare_) the boy sat up, his eyes not leaving Kakashi's dark orb. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, the boy leapt up and, before Kakashi could react, threw his arms around the teen's neck in a hug.

Kakashi blinked in surprise; even in his crouched position, his body stiffened instinctively to the foreign feeling of close contact (_when was the last time someone had hugged him? he wondered, probably not since Rin…_). But the boy didn't let go, as if Kakashi might disappear again if he let go.

Gradually, Kakashi let his body relax and awkwardly returned the hug as the boy buried his face in the teen's shoulder. "I won't leave again." he murmured, not knowing what else to say.

But apparently the boy understood, because he released his grip on Kakashi's neck, and backed up enough to stare into Kakashi's neck, with a very serious expression for such a young face. _Promise?_ His eyes seemed to request.

"I promise."

Naruto nodded, his face lighting up with another radiant smile. He would definitely hold the teen to his promise.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Afterwards, when Pakkun had arrived and been assured that everything was fine, Kakashi decided that the best thing to do was to go to the Hokage and tell him about the slight incident that morning, just in case. But first, he had to get Naruto some decent clothes and a bath. The boy's current garments were practically shredded from half a year of continued use, and what was left could barely be recognized as a once-white t-shirt and shorts. And the skin that was exposed was mostly covered in dirt, grime, and even what smelled like dried blood (specifically, Kakashi's blood).

The bath was easily taken care of, especially since Kakashi had plenty of experience washing his nin-dogs (they always needed baths after particularly dirty missions). Naruto seemed to have no problem with getting wet, and, after the initial shock, he watched the bubbles of soap suds with wide-eyed awe, causing Kakashi to wonder sadly if he had ever been washed with soap before.

The clothes, however, were not so easily handled. The ANBU flipped through his own meager closet (black shinobi clothes, black masks, dark sweaters, etc), searched through the rest of his apartment and came up blank. It was not a surprise; he had thrown out all his childhood clothes, partly because he had no room for them and partly because they were mostly worn out and brought back unpleasant memories (_a tear from a graze with a kunai, a strip torn off to bandage the gash_).

And though he would liked to have given Naruto something that actually fit after six months of wearing the same shirt as it grew smaller and smaller, but there was not enough time. Finally, he compromised and gave the boy one of his t-shirts (plain black, like most of his things), which was long enough to reach past Naruto's knee.

Kakashi frowned, glancing at Naruto thoughtfully as the boy hugged his teddy bear—still dirty and faded—to his chest while picking at the hem of his shirt with his other hand. He had noticed that throughout the whole time, and even since he had found the boy the night before, Naruto had not said one word. This observation worried him, because he knew that children Naruto's age should be talking non-stop, not this…taciturn.

The boy seemed to feel his gaze, and turned to look at him with wide, blue eyes, slightly fearful as if he had done something wrong. Kakashi quickly turned his frown into a sort-of smile, something he hoped was comforting. Evidently, it was enough to reassure Naruto, and the boy went back to picking at the edge of his shirt.

"Come on, Naruto. We need to go see the Hokage-sama." Kakashi said quietly. Naruto tilted his head, looking confused. _Hokage…sama…?_

"The old man," Kakashi clarified, knowing that Naruto must have seen the Sandaime before, "With the big red hat and white robes."

A flash of recognition passed through the boy's eyes, accompanied by some unease, as if he didn't quite recall completely (_the only thing he remembered was a kind smile and a smoky scent_). But he nodded anyways, a sharp, surprisingly quick incline of his head hiding nervous eagerness to meet another familiar stranger.

Kakashi took that as a good sign, but, he thought with disappointment, still no words.

"Let's go." He said, opting to use the door this time. He took a step out, then paused as Naruto did not follow. Looking back inquisitively and wondering with a bit of dread if the boy had some innate fear of meeting strangers as well, he was taken by surprise when Naruto's small hand slipped into, or rather grabbed onto, his own.

The boy's eyes were filled with a determination (_he would go out, he was not scared_) and well-hidden apprehension (_there was nothing to fear, if he was with the silver-haired person, right?_). He tightened his grip on Kakashi's hand and started out the door.

Hidden by his mask, another small smile surfaced on Kakashi's face. It was a good start.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the Hokage tower, the Sandaime Hokage flipped through the mission reports, not really seeing the words. The few times his assistants came in, he listened patiently to their complaints which he had heard countless times before (_Hatake was still missing from the hospital, Maito Gai was acting stranger than usual, a suspicious man with long white hair was seen around the women's bathhouse…_), and dismissed them with a careless wave of his hand. It was all in a day's work, along with the piles of paperwork and mission reports he had somehow accumulated.

Really, he was getting too old for this.

A knock on his door drew his attention away from the paperwork. It was a welcome sound, indicating anther break from the tedious task of reading print that was truly too small for his aging eyes. Even listening to another useless complaint was better than the strain that paperwork was on his eyesight. "Come in." he intoned, putting down his pen.

To his surprise, it was not the chunin assistant of his, but, of all people, Hatake Kakashi. The teen opened the door with his shoulder, his broken arm was unusable, and his other hand seemed to be occupied, though how the Sandaime couldn't see, as it was hidden behind the threshold.

"Kakashi-kun," he greeted, feeling a sense of déjà-vu. _He came here the other day as well, didn't he?_ "Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"

Kakashi shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but there was a rigidity to his posture that implied he had something important to say. The Sandaime raised his eyebrows, "Do you need to talk again?" he asked kindly.

This seemed to get a response from the teen. His eye flicked down guiltily in a decidedly un-Kakashi-like way, and he mumbled something inaudibly. The Hokage blinked, and took it as an affirmative. "Come inside then." He invited the teen, still stuck halfway inside the room and halfway out.

"I'm sorry," Kakashi muttered, this time loud enough for the Hokage to hear, "I've been holding out on you."

This time, the Sandaime was very confused. "Holding out on me? Kakashi, what are you-" His next words, however, were caught in his throat, as Kakashi moved fully into the room, gently trailing the reason his left arm was occupied.

He was thinner than the Sandaime remembered, and dressed in what appeared to be one of Kakashi's dark-colored t-shirts, which was long enough to reach his knee. And his hair was longer, as if it had not been cut in a long time, and slightly tangled as well. But the blue eyes and whisker marked cheeks were unmistakable.

The Sandaime felt suddenly as if he had knocked a few years of his current age. After all, what was paperwork and small print and even the monotony of listening to the same complaints, when he had suddenly presented with something he thought he had lost (_and maybe, just maybe, he could save this generation, starting with this child_)?

"Naruto…"

TBC


End file.
